


Androgyny and Other Such Formalities

by DariumTheMadScientist (orphan_account)



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: ALL THE GAY, Character(s) of Color, Expect Lesbians, F/F, F/M, Game Grumps - Freeform, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Female Character, idk how to tag, other characters to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-04-12 16:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4486119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DariumTheMadScientist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marc is your average, gender fluid teenager living in foster care. When they're give the chance to live with their idols, how could they say no?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Close Encounters of the Queer Kind

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in this fandom. Please don't kill me.  
> I'd love to hear any suggestions you guys might have.  
> I went through and edited a few errors here and there.

"Why not?" Whines Izzy

"I've told you before ; I don't like birthday parties."

"Not even your own?" Her eyes grow comically wide.

"I don't like all the fuss. All the attention"

"But – but the cake." You try not to laugh at her dead serious face. She's endearing, you'll give her that.

"We nearly there?"

"Yeah. Just a few more blocks."

You smile. Izzy's the only nine year old you know who loves education. She's at the top of her class in just about everything, she loves watching things like Game Theory and VSauce with you and she reads children's encyclopedias in her spare time.

In short, she's a nerd. A huge nerd just like you..

Once, she'd confided in you that her biological dad is a scientist of some kind.

For a while she babbles on about everything and nothing, pointing out random things like birds and clothes store mannequins. She does this when she's excited. Her school's having some kind of dance. Yours is doing the same for Valentine's Day. What better way to commemorate the death of a saint - who married people during a time in which such an act was illegal - than by making single people feel bad about their lack of relationship status. Besides, they're always so heteronormative. Last year you'd been given shit for having the gall to wear a suit. Perish the thought.

"There's Daisy and Sean!" She squeals, running forward and all but crashing into two other kids.

"Wow, Sean, you're hair looks so cute!"

The kid in question has a pixie cut you're sure his mom did for him. She's amazing.

Anyway, you yell goodbye before heading off to your own school. You sigh. Unlike Izzy you hate formal education.

Today is going to be a long day.

 

Nothing much of substance happens. You answer math problems; you're told to take off your hat whilst indoors; two ninth graders start a fight in the already cramped cafeteria; you have a debate about the possibility of alien life June while eating lunch. You know, the usual.

"That's preposterous. There's over one hundred billion planets in our galaxy alone. Statistically speaking, alien life is entirely plausible."

"Yeah, but if there's that many then how come none of them have bothered visiting Earth? Or at least flown by?" Says June.

"Maybe they've got better things to do than fuck around with Earthlings." Says Lucy. "Like, maybe they look at Earth and think 'those guys are busy blowing each other up. Imma go colonise Pluto. Actually that doesn't sound like a bad plan. I mean, I wouldn't have to put up with you suckers."

"One year on Pluto is the equivalent of 250 Earth years," You say, opening your tub of pasta. "But yeah. Go ahead and plant a flag."

Lucy rolls her eyes at you.

Together you three while away the lunch hour, bantering back and forth about space and, of course, that stupid Valentine's dance. Fuck Valentine's day.

"So, Marc, who are you taking?" Says June.

"Ha ha. You're so funny."

You all know June's taking Olivia from her Math class. Even you have to admit they're adorable together. They both also know you have a minor crush on Olivia's friend, Carylin-Grace Hollister. And by minor you mean major. Like, you organised your seating plan in Biology and English Lit just so you could sit behind her. Never next to her. God forbid she tries to discuss Mitochondria or Shakespeare and you have an allergic reaction to her cuteness. In your humble opinion, she's perfect. From the way she runs her fingers through her hair when she's concentrating, to her hair that's so red it should be illegal. Utter perfection – the only acceptable answer to the question 'what is Carylin-Grace like?'

But then again, that's just what you think.

It's not as if she knows you exist

 

By the time you get to English Lit she's already there. Sitting next to the window, head rested in her palm. You take your place behind her and pretend you're not counting the freckles on the back of her neck. Is that creepy? Like, hey, you don't know me but I know you have at least thirty six freckles and one mole. God, you can be so creepy sometimes.

Mr Green rolls in ten minutes later, rocking his patented messy 'I-didn't-just-take-a-nap-in-the-stationary-cupboard' hair style. His wife's just had a baby and, if the dark circles under his eyes are any indication, he spent most of last night trying to get it to go the fuck to sleep. Who could blame the guy for wanting to catch some Zs in a quiet, dark room?

"I know, I know," He yawns. "Feel free to blame me if you fail all your exams. But I know one thing that'll cheer you guys up." He grins and brandishes a stack of papers.

Finally, you think. He's finally gotten around to marking your essays. 'Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde' is a kick ass book, you don't care what anyone else thinks. As far as you know (or are concerned), you're the only person in your English Honour's class who's read the whole thing.

When Carylin-Grace gets her paper she pumps a fist into the air. You can't see her face but you bet she has dimples when she smiles.

"Hey, congrats." You say without thinking. She turns around and smiles at you.

"Thanks, Marc."

The world ceases spinning and grinds to a sweet halt. Oh. My GOD. Not only does she KNOW YOUR NAME she also knows your PREFERED NAME. And actually uses it like a considerate human being. Sweet Jesus and Mary and Joseph. Thankfully she turns around before she can see the holes you're boring into her skull.

Mr Green likes to have everything – and you do mean everything – in alphabetical order, so by the time you get your paper back, most everyone else has already had a chance to clamour or cry over their grade. You don't even notice the paper at first. You're too busy trying to learn how to breath again.

"I want you all to be proud of what you've written – 'cause I sure know I am. Some of you did fantastic. Hell, for a while you reminded me of why I started teaching in the first place." He looks over at you and Grace, smiling at the both of you before looking over at one or two other people.

In.......and out.

Once you've regained your composure, you gaze down at your work. Your grade stares back.

A+.

First Carylin-Grace acknowledges your existence, and now you score a near perfect mark on an essay you've been slaving over for weeks?

Could this day get any better?

 

When the bell finally rings, you're relieved to see Mindy parked outside the school. She's sitting in the mini van, reading a book you borrowed her last week.

"Hey, Marc. How was your day?"

"Alright, You shrug. "School is school."

"And your essay? How did you fare on that?"

"Uh, A plus."

"Awesome! See, I knew you'd do great. Didn't tell you?"

"Yeah. Thanks." You roll your eyes at her glee.

Besides the two of you, the only other person in the van is Jackson. He's in a few of your Honours classes. On the way home she picks up six more people. Everyone else gets tutored, so they're already at the home. You were tutored for a while until you got bored of being at home al day. Sure, going to mainstream schooling means you're stuck in the same building all day, but at least you have a change of scenery every hour or so. And you have friends that aren't more like annoying room mates than anything else.

Most people get picked up from the same school; the one where they send all the kids with learning disabilities and behavioural disorders. You went there for a year or so, back when they said you had some kind of anxiety disorder. All you really learned was one thing: the American public school system is non-inclusive as hell.

Anyway, tonight is your night to set the table for dinner, but that's no until half five. Until then you can do whatever. Izzy's at soccer practice. You head to the games room and play Super Smash Bros. Melee with Jackson. Despite only having about seven fingers in total he still manages to beat you time and time again.

"Take that!" He says as you watch your character fly off the screen for the millionth time.

"I think I'm done." You say, hitting pause.

"Wanna go play soccer?"

"Izzy'll be back in about ten minutes. Why don't you play with her?" You know how much he loves sports. He's in your school's Cross Country team and is captain of the hockey team. Ableism be damned.

With that you head up two flights of stairs, to your room on the top floor. There's only three rooms up there, one of them being yours. Last year, two twin sisters had been adopted, leaving you to relish in the prospect of a single room The room is barely bigger than a closet, sure, but nevertheless, it's still yours. As you step in, you narrowly avoid tripping over a stack of paper backs. You really need to organise those. You sit down on your bed and slide out a shoe box from underneath it. The box itself - which once housed your pair of steel-toe boots – is chock-full of Post-It notes, character profiles, half finished family trees, and paragraphs of text translated into several different languages. It's your pride and joy – your Magnum Opus, of sorts. Very few people know of its existence and even fewer have been allowed to traverse its pages, held together with paper clips. In a way it's sort of like a exotic, undiscovered creature. Unbeknown to the rest of the world, it will one day emerge. If only you have more time to write. No matter what, school work always seems to get in the way of your actual writing.

For a while you go over the latest chapter you've written: going through and editing dialogue, correcting spelling and grammar errors.

For the longest time you just sit there, surrounded by dozens of loose papers and notebooks, content.

Eventually you get bored and shove everything back into the shoe box. Once again it sits quietly under you bed, where no one else will ever find it.

Such is life.

With almost an hour to go before dinner, you figure it wouldn't hurt to go to the computer room. It's deserted most days anyway.

As luck would have it, today is one of those days. Immediately, you log into YouTube and click on the latest Game Grumps video. You laugh your ass off – like always. You love those guys. Seriously, you know more about them than the people you live with. Life with them would be crazy and perfect, you're sure of it. You also imagine them all living in a good part of town. A few times they mentioned that Danny and Barry live together. Maybe they have a two story house with a little garden. The sure as hell don't lie in a three story manor house turned foster home. It looks big and fancy from the outside, but on the inside the home is anything but. Every day something different – and probably bad – happens. Once, someone jammed the DVD player full of Play Doh and it took a painfully long time to get a new one. Another time, a reckless boy broke the first floor banister by sliding down it. Nothing is ever quiet and everything is either broken or second hand.

After a while you hear a knock at the door. One of the younger girls pops her head around the door.

"Joe needs you in the dining room. Also, there's someone coming after dinner. Apparently they're going to adopt someone! Who knows – maybe one of us will get out of this joint."

"Yeah. That'll be the day." In truth, you've been adopted and fostered more times than you can count. You first came to the home about ten years ago and you've been in and out so much they may as well install a revolving door. One or two people got adopted just before Christmas. Since then there hasn't been any new arrivals or departures.

Whoever gets chosen, you wish they find luck with their new family.

Over dinner, all anyone can talk about is the visitor. You have on good authority that the visitor is male and very tall. Like that narrows things down. A small, fantastical part of you wishes that it's one of the Grumps. Danny, maybe. He may or may not be your favourite. Anyway, words and rumours spread quickly and you're all bored, dysfunctional children who all, on at least some level, want out of the home. It's a nice enough place to be, sure, but after a while you get tired of sharing everything. Plus every year, whether you like it or not, they throw a party for you. And attendance isn't exactly optional. They're supposed to be fun – in what Byzantine way, you have no idea. If anyone has a relatively clean track record, it's you: you've never ran away, gotten expelled, purposely injured anyone else, etc.

 

The day begins with a cacophony of noise. Below you, you can hear people running around, things being knocked over, small children yelling at other small children. At this point nothing surprises you. It's all par for the course, really. The general rule is that, as long as nothing is broken, then everything's fine.

"Marc," Says Izzy through the door. "You awake yet?"

"Yeah, just give me a second."

You put on a pair of jeans, a black T-shirt and a black, sleeveless jacket. With your binder on, you could pass for a feminine guy. You smile at yourself in your full length mirror.

Today is going to be a good day, you think. You hope.

After you use the bathroom, you make your way downstairs, avoiding the foam Nerf gun pellets being fired every which way on the second floor.

Oddly enough, the only people sitting in the dining room are the ones who attend your high school or one of the other ones in the district. Just as you grab a slice of toast, Mindy walks in.

"All children ages fourteen and up, please make your way to the games room."

So the mystery guest wants a high school student? Strange, parents usually want to adopt the younger ones.

"If you guys could just hang around here for a while, that'd be great." With that she leaves you all to your own devices.

"Are we, like, being interviewed or some shit?" Asks Jackson.

"I guess. God, it's so weird." You say.

"Nervous?"

"Pfft. Of course not."

A girl called Susan Andrews is called first. So they're doing it alphabetically.

By the time you're called up there's one other person left.

"Good luck!" He says. "Remember: they're more scared of you than you are of them."

Not bloody likely, you think as you leave the room. You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous. Your heart is starting to race and your palms are sweating.

Relax, relax, you think. Everything is fine. Nothing to see here - just a queer trying not to freak out. Breath in.....and out. Slowly, slowly like a baby bird stuck in a cat's territory, you open the door to the office.

All of the breathing techniques in all the worlds would still not be enough to prepare you for what's happening.

Sitting in Mindy's office, clad in a red plaid shirt, is none other than the infamous, the perfect, Daniel Avidan. And you've just forgotten how to breath. Again.


	2. Dreams Of Electric Sheep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in so long. Now that I'm back in school I've got barely any spare time.  
> If I'm honest, I never expected so many people to read this story so quickly. Thank you all so much for reading and leaving kudos!  
> I'd love to hear any feedback or constructive criticism you may have down in the comments.  
> -Darium

When you were in junior high, you entered a writing competition. At the time you hadn't thought much of it. You re-drafted a short story you'd written a few months prior and entered it.  
Your thought process was that maybe you'd get runner up and win a cute little tiny trophy or something else you could put in your bedroom window. You've never been the competitive type, so to you it was a bit of fun. What you didn't know was that the top three winners had to read their entries out in front of the entire school.  
Trust you not to read the rules properly and trust you to come second place.  
It was nerve-wrecking, standing up in front of all of those people, knowing that if you slipped up they'd all be there to hear it. It took everything you had not to simply crumple up and stop breathing.  
Just thinking about that day makes you writhe in internalised embarrassment and turmoil.  
Even that day – one of your most stress inducing memories – is nothing compared to how you feel right now.  
You're sitting across from Dan Avidan; your idol, one of the few people who can make you laugh no matter what. It's like some kind of bizarre fever dream.  
“Hi!” He says, around the same time you remember how to breathe. “I'm Danny.”  
“Uh, hi, hello. I'm Marc.”  
fuck fuck fuck  
What do you even do? How do talk like human?  
“Uh...I know who you are.” Hello creep.  
“Yeah?”  
“You're Danny from Game Grumps, right? And you're in NSP and Starbomb...”  
“Yeah. So you're a fan.”  
“Ehhh...kind of?”  
That's a lie and you know it. You wonder if he can smell your fear or anxiety.  
You talk about the usual stuff, hobbies; interests; movies. He asks you what grade you're in, how you're doing in school, and what you want to do after you leave.  
You smile. “That's easy. I'm gonna be an author. Writing's the only thing I can see myself doing.”  
For the first time, you realise that this guy, who sings about dicks and plays video games for a living, could potentially be your future father. The prospect is kind of surreal.  
You're almost convinced you're dreaming all of this.  
When you leave you feel all light headed.

 

Rain beats down against the roof like a steel drum. Somehow the clouds know you're in a low mood and are compensating with some seasonal, cliché downpours.  
You can't find the motivation or the focus to write or read any of the books you've started, so right now you're staring down at the driveway. You blink. None of the cars have moved; they're all still where they were two hours ago. You sigh and rest your head against your arm.  
Saturdays are the worst: you can't go anywhere on your own and it's not as if you can invite people around.  
You feel terrible. To be fair, it's your fault for getting your hopes up in the first place. There's no way someone as great as Danny would want to adopt you. Everyone who adopts you gives up on you and leaves in the end. Would he be any different? Now you'll never get to know. He's gone for good.  
At least you snapped a selfie with him.  
It's times like these where you consider packing a bag full of clothes and food and running away. A place where no one would ever find you.  
If you got the right train you could make it as far as Bakersfield in about three hours. And then...well, it's usually at about that point when you remember all of the good – the things that make you want to stay more than ever. The little things: being able to listen to the rain, uninterrupted for hours on end, and getting to plant tomatoes and strawberries in the spring in the fruit patch.  
Then there's the big things to consider: school and the novel you're in the process of writing.  
Yeah, your life can be shitty at times, but regardless, it's your life.  
In the end, no matter how many people leave, this life is yours and yours alone.  
God, you can be sappy sometimes.

 

Wake up, get dressed, fumble about for contact lenses, give up, put on glasses. The frame's still broken from the time you went grass sliding. In hindsight, deciding to hurtle down a near vertical bank using a piece of flimsy cardboard as a sledge was not your greatest idea. If it was Monday then you could have moseyed on down to the technology department and used a hot glue gun to fix them. Instead you make do with Cello-tape. A few people are awake, milling about like dysfunctional zombies.  
It's been a week since Danny visited. Since then you've heard nothing about the situation from any of the social workers. You know they have to be silent about the matter and that's what makes it so much worse. You're all dying to know what decision he's made.  
“Marc!” Says Mindy, whose clearly on her third cup of coffee. “Just the person I'm looking for.” Oh great. She sleeps in that office of hers, you swear. Right now she's peering round at you from the threshold, as if she's about to jump out and murder you.  
“'Sup?” You say. Geez, your brain is defunct today.  
“Remember Dan Avidan?”  
“The one from last week?”  
“The very same.” Her voice is cheery, almost overly so. Why is she in such a good mood this early in the day? Did someone spike her coffee with weed? Is that a thing you can do?  
“He's made a decision on who he wants to adopt.”  
“Oh. That's good. Who is it?”  
She grins like the Cheshire cat.  
You look around to see if anyone's behind you. “Me?”  
“Yes you, silly!”  
You stare at her. “Seriously.”  
“Oh, Marc. You need to have more confidence in yourself.”  
“Did he say why?”  
She grins and shakes her head.  
“You can ask him yourself He's in my office. Go and say hi to your new parent.”  
That's never going to not sound weird.  
Lo and behold, Danny's sitting in the same place, wearing the same red shirt.  
“Uhhhh, hi..? Again, I guess.” You can be so dense at times.  
You look down at your own button up shirt.  
“Well,” You say. “One of us is going to have to change.”

 

You don't leave right away, of course: there's paper work to finalise and small children to say goodbye to – things like that.  
“But you can't leave!” Cries Izzy. “Who's gonna watch My Little Pony with me?” She certainly has her priorities straight.  
“Iz, it's gonna be fine. Beside, it's not as if you'll never see me again. I promise I'll visit.”  
“Real soon?”  
“Of course.”  
Ever since she came to the home, Izzy has been like a little sister to you. She looks to you for advice and wisdom and all that jazz.  
“And it's so close to your birthday too!”  
Let's be honest, she's going to be like this all day.

\- -

By Monday the weather is starting to look up. For once you don't have to  
wear a jacket on the way to school. A sun beam breaks through the clouds and rains down.  
Last night you had found a small, rectangular badge while sorting through your wardrobe. In gold letters, it says 'CAPTAIN'. Needless to say, you plan on wearing it all the time.  
There's a few minutes to go before first period. Instead of heading to class, you're pacing back and forth in front of Carylin-Grace's locker. She has to show up at some point. Unless, she got here earlier and has already left. Crap.  
“Hey, Marc-”  
“Hey, Carylin-Grace.”  
It takes all the self control you have not to jump. Instead you focus on the flower crown she's wearing. Pink roses and white roses.  
Pink and white and pink and white and-  
“-so what do you say?”  
Shit, what's she saying?  
“I'm sorry, can you repeat that?”  
“I said, my lab partners out sick. Do you wanna team up?”  
“Uhh, sure. Sounds great. We'll be like Black Widow and Hawkeye. But, you know, with better  
character development.”  
“Who?”  
“You know, they're from Avengers Assemble.”  
“Oh, I've heard of that. Haven't seen it though.”  
“You should. Like, watch it, I mean.”  
She giggles – fucking giggles like an anime character.  
“I'll get on it. Wanna head down to Biology?”

“That was way too fucking gross.”  
As it turns out, today's practical experiment involved a lot more dissection than you were prepared to handle. Also, Carylin-Grace is weirdly good at cutting open dead things and not vomiting.  
Right now you're standing outside the science block while Carylin-Grace rifles through her bag for something.  
As it also turns out, talking to Carylin-Grace is way easier than you had anticipated.  
“I mean, that poor sheep. It probably wanted to be a sheep lawyer. Now it's lungs are all cut up.”  
Carylin-Grace laughs. “Sheep lawyer!” Her laugh is rich, like classical string music. Does that even constitute as a compliment? It makes more sense in you head -- most things you say make more sense in your head.  
“Or a sheep police man.” You continue. “Stop, in the name of the baa!”  
“Oh, that's perfect.”  
You need to make her laugh more often.  
“You like reading, don't you?” She asks, one eyebrow raised.  
You snort. “Is the sky blue?”  
“I knew it: you always have your head in a book.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Geez, that makes me sound creepy. I mean, uh, sometimes I see you around school and uh,” She trails off. She sounds...a bit like you, believe it or not. That's....wow. What a revelation: Carylin god-damn -Grace can be just as awkward and bumbling as you. Only cuter.  
“I get what you mean.” You say.  
She nods. It's faint, but there's no way you can miss the light blush that dances across her dark skin.  
Oh my God, you think. She's flustered.  
“Hey, it's fine. But I didn't see you as being the creepy stalker type.”  
“I-! You don't- I'm not...” She makes a pained noise, the kind a printer makes when it's out of paper.  
“Relax, Carylin-Grace.”  
“Why do you always call me by my full name?”  
“I like it: it's pretty.” You say without thinking. It seems that there's a major malfunction with your brain to mouth filter. Well, what you said wasn't exactly wrong. It is a pretty name.  
“I like you name, too. It shouldn't rhyme with 'ark' but it does.”  
You don't quite understand how, but this somehow leads to two you exchanging phone numbers.  
You message her online until the Wi-Fi is turned off, then continue your conversation via text until your eyes are red and watery.

\- -

You can't sleep.  
There's a triad of thoughts plaguing your mind: Carylin-Grace, the prospect of being adopted, by Danny and that stupid dance that you'll somehow end up going, let's face it.  
Let's start with your dream girl, Carylin-Grace, in all her double-barrelled glory.  
Your crush on her is nothing knew: everytime you see her your stomach does a weird flip. You're both at least on good speaking terms, though this doesn't change the fact that you over-analyse every conversation that you share with her.  
Carylin-Grace is beautiful and majestic, a force of nature. When you stand next to her, you may as well be Icarus – flying too close to the sun. That's why you've kept your distance for so long. A person like her would never bother with you. What's the point in getting your hopes up only to have them scorched? So that is how it went. For many months you observed from a far, never daring to get too close, lest you scare her off with your weirdness.  
At least, until now. Admitting that she keeps tabs on your interests, stumbling over words, showing faults. It all seems so simple, so innocuous.  
Yet, it's always the little things that make your heart soar with joy.  
Around her you feel...safe. Like you could tell her anything and she'd listen.  
She remembers, she understands.

Then there's Dan.  
You honestly have no idea why Danny would want to adopt you. You're quiet and borderline anti-social; you spend most of your time in deep thought, ignoring most everything around you; you're an organised mess of a person.  
Then there's the whole gender issue. He didn't say anything about it during either of your meetings, thank God. But what if he decides to bring it up at some point in the future? From what you've seen on Game Grumps, he's a pretty considerate and accepting person. Though this doesn't change the fact that coming out if difficult and terrifying. It doesn't help that you essentially have to do it twice. Then again, you have a few options to choose from:  
One:  
“Hey, glad you adopted me. By the way I'm gay and gender fluid.”  
Pros:  
It's straightforward and to the point.  
Cons:  
He could decide to unadopt you right then and there.  
He could pretend to be fine and then spend the next few weeks asking unintentionally personal questions.  
Two:  
“Who's got two thumbs and like girls? This person!”  
Pros:  
None. It's a terrible joke.  
Cons: See above.

And finally, that God damn Valentine's day dance.  
You have four days to decide whether or not you're going: four days to build up the courage to ask Carylin-Grace out.  
The introverted part of you is filled with dread everytime you so much imagine attending a semi-public event celebrating something you don't care about, surrounded by people you don't like, listening to music you hate.  
You'd much rather spend the night inside, in a nest of blankets, reading a good book. Maybe a mug of cocoa, too.  
Then there's the issue of what you should wear.  
Should you wear jeans or formal trousers? Doll shoes or converse?  
You wonder if Carylin-Grace is going to the dance...  
And so it goes.  
On and off, you think about the three subjects at hand until your brain aches.  
At some point you drift off to sleep, dreaming about cherubs and electric sheep.


	3. Announcement

It's been a while since I've updated, hasn't it? I'm working on the next chapter, however I'm also about to take my GCSEs.  
I'm going to be unbelievably busy with exams until about late June. Until then don't expect to see too much from this story.

-Darium


End file.
